Just so you know, happy hour was a smashing success, even though our bartender was a raging asshole. But it's not like we're going to let a little something like that rain on our parade. Thanks, ladies, for an awesome evening!
Of course, little did I know that my terrible, horrible, no good, very bad day wasn't quite over. On the way home from happy hour, complete with lots of talking and laughing on the drive with Miss Burrows, my phone rang. And it was my husband. And I answered it anyway. And he was FLIPPING INSANE WITH RAGE at 11:45 p.m., having just gotten home from taking Erinna to a movie and walking in on "something shady" going on with Taylor and "some shifty looking kid." I still haven't managed to get all of the details but an empty whiskey bottle in the boy's bedroom was involved.
While I'm trying to figure out what Tim is yelling into the phone about, my call waiting beeps, and it is, OF COURSE, Taylor, wanting to get to me first with his side of the story.
I'll spare you the details. But that, my friends, is what is known as a major buzz kill after a great night.
Hopefully, everyone in my household has had a chance to CHILL THE HELL OUT after sleeping on it last night.
Now on to the mystery for the day. Someone was POUNDING my door down at 8:40 this morning (we have no doorbell). No one got up and answered it. I was awake but still in bed, and my rationale was by the time I throw on sweats and get down to the door, they'll be gone. But now the curiosity is killing me. Who in the world was POUNDING on my door that early on a Sunday morning? My only guess so far is my neighbor whose car got dinged last night. Because I really want to be in the middle of that.